Twelve and a Half
by Sylvanna
Summary: Amee was a Muggle...well, technically a Squib, but might as well be a Muggle. A year and a half over the age for acceptance at Hogwarts or any other magical school. The assumption, then, could only be made that she was the lone non-magical in a family of witches and wizards. Please, please give some critiques and suggestions.
1. Chapter 1

It was an odd establishment. Enormously tall bookshelves stretched impossibly vertically to the high ceiling. On every single one were books – not a single slot was empty or unoccupied. While some of the titles were large – a few feet – others were no larger than a pamphlet. Strewn in disorderly piles were even more books. Some of them had pages ripped out and missing, as if in anger or agony. Spots of a red liquid – not blood, Amee hoped – tainted some of the tattered papers. Try as she might, Amme couldn't see where the shelves ended. It was as if they never did.

She remembered what she was here for. She stepped forward, clearing her throat politely. Instantly, an official looking man appeared. He wore long gray robes and had a wild look in his eyes. He was young, only twenty or so, perfectly round glasses sitting precariously on the bumpy bridge of his nose.

"Yes?" He peered down at Amee curiously.

She stuttered out, "I'm-I'm h-here to check ou-out a title, sir."

"Oh, yes," chuckled the man quietly, "They always are." He stiffened. "Name?"

"My name?"

The man blinked, as if surprised by her question. "How else would I know which book you wish to check out?"

"You-you could ask me, sir."

"No, no," chided the man, "_That's_ quite ineffective."

Amee shrugged. "Yes, yes. I was being silly. Amee Fieldmouse is my name."

The man's eye brows raised appraisingly. "Ah, yes." He examined. "A good read, Miss Fieldmouse." He turned sharply and began walking down the center aisle of bookshelves. His boots clicked and crunched across papers and tile, caring not for the endless numbers of book papers that littered the floor. Amee, not knowing what else to do, trotted behind him, swiveling her head to look and see if she could find the end of this massive library. She felt something land in her palm – a pamphlet-sized book. As the man was paying no attention to her, muttering words indistinctly about this wizard or that, she read the title.

_Infant Girl: A short story._ Intrigued, she thumbed it open. Suddenly and before she could even read a single word on the first page, it was snatched from her hands.

"Let's choose our reading material wisely, Miss Fieldmouse," warned the librarian man, "Nasty business if we don't."

Amee didn't know how to answer his command, so instead she just nodded blankly. The man spun left onto an aisle, crouching a few feet down and selecting a fat, velvet-bound hardcover book of a dark, mossy green. The title read: _Farlost School: The Girl Who Wasn't and Nothing More. _The librarian licked his index finger once, quickly, and flipped to a page squarely in the middle of the book.

"Ah, here it is," he announced, "You're looking for a list of schools. How old are you, Miss Fieldmouse?"

"Twelve and a half," Amee admitted.

The librarian gave a slick, short laugh. "And here your adventure begins, my dear."

She wanted to know what he meant, but something in his face warned her not to ask. She'd find out eventually, the lines between his eyebrows told her. He picked up another book, placing the first back into its place. This one was indigo-colored leather with gold, swirly engravings on the front. Solemnly, he handed it to her. She quickly skimmed the Table of Contents on the first page. It was odd….but the book didn't have a title.

_Schools A-Z…..4-200_

_Introduction ….. 1-3_

_Welcome, Amee Fieldmouse_

She angrily flipped to H. There it was: the listing for the greatest wizardry school in the world: Hogwarts. The information was simple, as all of them were. Every single school accepted their students at eleven. All of them.

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Admittance age: eleven_

_Send owl for information to: H. Warts, Undisclosed Location_

"But I'm twelve!" Amee lamented absently.

"Yes, you are," said the librarian in answer, eyeing his customer carefully, "Perhaps check the F's?"

She did as told, knowing that what she'd find there was another school which she hadn't gotten into. It would further her sadness, but she thought it unwise to question this librarian. The first entry under a large, fancy-scripted F was a school that, surprisingly, she hadn't heard of before.

_Farlost Academy for the Magically Inclined_

_Admittance age: twelve and a half_

_-No contact information-_

Her eyes flitted guessingly to the librarian for only a second before they returned to the page. When they did, a rather fat envelope rested on the page she had been reading. Could it really have been a mistake? Was Amee really magical after all? She knew that she had been a great disappointment to her parents, a Muggle.

The letter was addressed to her, _A. Fieldmouse, All Knowledge Library. _

She turned the envelope over, ripping open the blank wax seal and unfolding a crisp sheet of friendly-looking paper. Yet, a cold chill swept through her. The librarian's eyes sparkled through the clearness of his glasses as he waited patiently. Amee read the letter aloud for him.

_Dear Miss Fieldmouse, _

_We are please to announce your regal acceptance to Farlost Academy for the Magically Inclined. If not otherwise enrolled to a magical educational institution (Hogwarts, Dareforth, or Deckwood, etc.) please check YES below._

__ Yes _ No_

Amee, in her excitement picked an old, broken quill from the tile floor where it had been laying abandoned. She scratched with its last bit of ink on the "yes" option. Why would this letter refer to Hogwarts as a possible school? Everyone had known for years that she would never be a student there.

More words materialized on the paper, erasing the previous ones.

_½ year students will require:_

_5 Uniforms (can be obtained at select shops in 'fitted style'.) _

_1 wand _

_1 juvenile griffin, or, if desired, owl. (griffin only for Avianics students)_

_1 magical journal _

_A copy of Avianics: Book 1by Arnold Captry (if studying Avianics)_

_A copy of Spells Year 1(all students)_

_NOTE: A magical assessment will take place upon arrival. Wands MUST be individual. Basic School Supplies also must be obtained. No brooms, rats, cats, toads, or other materials and companions.) _

_School year beginning: August 2. Ticket enclosed for travel. _

Well, thought Amee to herself, what a dreadfully long and wonderfully exciting letter. Her parents would be immensely proud. She wasn't a muggle, after all!

"Are you certain of your path now, Miss Fieldmouse?" asked the librarian. Amee refolded the letter and closed the book, handing it to him.

"Why haven't I heard of Farlost before?" she wondered aloud.

The librarian folded his hands. "It's a very special place, Miss Fieldmouse. Only a select few go there. It isn't like Hogwarts – no, they think that griffins are terribly wild creatures."

"They aren't?" mused Amee, shocked. All her life, she'd heard that they were unimaginably untamable animals. It wasn't a lie, was it? Maybe she ought to rethink her plans. After all, she was admitted to a magical school after being told that she was a Muggle.

"Not for the right people." Assured the librarian, winking quickly. Nervously, he pointed to the letter still in her hand. "Shouldn't you be at Diagon Alley by now? It _is _September thirtieth."

"Oh, no!" lamented the girl. "How will I get the supplies! The Hogwarts students will have already cleared the shops-"

"Not for your supplies." Stopped the librarian, snapping his fingers. She wasn't at the library anymore. She was at home – a stately, small home with cheery yellow curtains over the windows and charming wood floors. She looked down into her hands – in her curled fist was still the letter.

"Mom!" she cried, rushing upstairs, "I'm not a muggle! I'm not!"


	2. Chapter 2

Amee's family was large by some standards, but remarkable by anyone's. Mr. Fieldmous was a quiet, tall man who served as a constulant and mentor at the Ministry of Magic for his notoriety and skill in the art of magical disguises. Amee's Mother was a stay-at-home witch, known in her Deckwood days as the greatest simple charm caster of all time, though she often had problems with the darker, more complicated spells. This led to a very hectic parenting environment. When the couple had their triplets (Rachel, Rory, and Rhonda), they nearly immediately showed magical promise and all received Hogwarts invitations promptly on time.

When Amee's birthday passed and her little brother, Alex, received his invitaion on time….they gave up hope on their youngest daughter. If she was magical, she'd have been called by some educational facility, they protested.

But one night, when a storm whipped against the stately house and rocked the firm oak trees that lined their gravel driveway, a man from the Ministry arrived. Amee had been four years old at the time of this event. He talked in hushed voices to Amee's parents behind the locked doors of Amee's Mother's office. At the time, Amee had assumed that this meant she was going to get a pre-education, which was something reserved for more talented witches and wizards. But that never happened, clearly.

Her life had been nearly normal during the school year, with her siblings gone – except, that is, for Alex. He stayed home but was infuriatingly responsible and quiet. He made Amee look like He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named in comparison.

Amee, then, was a middle child. So when she rushed into her Mother's office yelling and waving her arms in violent protest that she wasn't a Muggle….naturally, her Mother was used to this behavior.

"No, Amee," she sighed, not peering up from her paper – a detailed description of Rory's latest prank and the reason for his current suspension from Hogwarts. "You're a squib. We discussed this – there is a difference."

The furious twelve and a half year old shoved the crumpled Farlost letter at Mrs. Feildmouse. The middle-aged woman took it, scrutinizing the wrinkled paper over the shiny glass of her oval spectacles. "What is this? A drawing?" Then she paled. "How did you come by this?"

"It's mine," Amee defended bravely.

Her Mother pursed her lips. "I _asked _how you came by it."

"I visited the All Knowledge Library," said Amee thickly.

Mrs. Fieldmouse's eyes widened before narrowing into slits. "You rash, rebellious child," she seethed, "you court danger. You know the nature of that place."

Amee yelped through her nervousness, "I was looking for a squib school!"

"Oh, please," her Mother said, rolling her green eyes, "You don't need a squib school. You need a Muggle school."

Amee's cheeks flamed a brilliant shade of pink. "I'm not a squib. Farlost accepted me."

"Farlost," Mrs. Fieldmouse began, "is a very unique school."

"Which doesn't take squibs. See? _Magically inclined_. It says so – right there."

Her Mother's lip curled and the exquisite pearls on her earlobes quivered as she spoke. "While I am in no position to decline your _acceptance_-" she said the word like one would say 'snake,' "When you attend, you are not to speak a word of your studies there. They are simply _never _to be talked of."

That was it – Amee's whole life changed by an invitation. She wasn't a squib. She was magical. But why couldn't her Mother refuse admission to Farlost? Amee wondered if there was more to this school than a mysterious Avianics subject which Amee'd never heard of. It was all happening so fast.

Suddenly, the smell of caramelized steak and spicy greens wafted into the room: her Mother's office where the mysterious conversation had taken place years before.

"That'll be dinner." Amee's Mother grumbled. "Not a word about Farlost, do you understand?" Her minty green pencil skirt and matching blazer seemed to glare at Amee. Amee nodded. Who did she have to tell, really? There'd only be her Father, Rory, and her Mother – who already knew – at the evening meal.

Mischevious and a careless prankster; Rory was, of course, Amee's favorite sibling. He stood tall and muscular at six-foot three. Though he might have been mistaken for a Quiddich jock at first glance, his sweet nature and goofy smile gave away to his kindness and compassion.

Amee took her place across from Rory at the shining wood table in the dining room. Plates of steamy food were placed in front of each of them by their house elf, Rit.

"Good job, Rit," it muttered to itself over and over as it did its job.

"Now, then," Mrs. Fieldmouse said from the opposite end of the table (Mr. Fieldmouse was at the head of the table) "let's eat."

Admittedly, Amee didn't actually eat much that night. Her stomach festered and boiled with anxiety – when was her Mother going to tell them? Was she going, after all, to Farlost? Of course she was – for whatever reason, her Mother has said that she wasn't in a place to refuse. Besides, Amee questioned herself again, what the heck was Avianics?

The main course's plates were cleared away, replaced by heaping trays of various fruit sauces to go with thin slices of wafer which tasted exactly like pound cake. Immediately, Rory tucked into his, pouring syrupy strawberry goo on one and rich blueberry glaze over the other. In front of Amee, though, was a simply bowl of Every Flavor Beans. She chewed one – broccoli, not half bad – thoughfully. Her brain hurt, but she didn't remember Alex needing any books on Avianics for his admission for his first year at Hogwarts.

Did it have something to do with what the librarian said, about Hogwarts thinking that griffins were terribly bothersome and dangerous creatures? No, no – but were they? Amee wondered.

Mrs. Fieldmouse cleared her slender throat delicately, shifting in her chair uncomfortably. "Amee has been accepted at a school."

Rory whooped loudly. "Go, baby sister! Squib schools are fun, I bet."

"_Perhaps_ you'd be quiet while I finish, Rory Bartholomew Fieldmouse,"suggested Amee's Mother not so kindly. "What I was just _beginning _to say is that Amee has been accepted into a witchcraft and wizardry academy."

"But-but she's a squib," Mr. Fieldmouse protested weakly. He sounded like he was convincing himself. Amee wondered if that was what the man from the Ministry had told them to say. But then, why hadn't she gotten an invitation to any other school? She'd been dealing with a year and a half of teasing from her siblings – all of them – for her squib-ness.

Rory smiled warmly at her. "Knew you weren't, Ames."

"If you're so excited about it, why don't you take her to Diagon Alley tomorrow," snapped his Mother. Her face was tinting an odd shade of red.

Rory didn't seem fazed by this. Amee felt encouraged; perhaps she wasn't an absolute failure to everybody. "Of course I will. Where's her list of supplies?"

"Don't bother getting her the nice ones…even the used ones for that school will be expensive. They're specialty." Mrs. Fieldmouse glared at Amee as if it was her fault. Guilt prickled up Amee's curled toes. Was it her fault? Oh, why couldn't she just be normal and attend Hogwarts like everybody else!

"Oh, please," Rory laughed, "For my baby sister – only the very best!"

This didn't make their Mother any happier. Mr. Fieldmouse still looked like he was in shock, eyed bugged out. Amee was puzzled…wasn't Farlost a good thing?

Amee was going to find her proper answer one way or another.

* * *

**A/N: Please let me know what you think! I really love you guys' imput.**


	3. Chapter 3

Diagon Alley, the next day, was remarkably busy. Using a quick Transportation spell, Rory had taken him and his little sister to the magical marketplace. First - they needed a special uniform, five of them. Surprisingly, the requested uniform for Farlost lacked robes. Amee began to think that Farlost was a school of two or three well-specified pupils. Would it be?

Strapped to Rory's hip was a jingly pouch of coins. Contrary to her threats, the Fieldmouse family was wealthy, and extra-special school supplies would be purchased, after all.

Rory turned down an alley into a side street, slinging open the door to _Unbelievably Unique Uniforms. _Inside was a woman, plump small and red-faced. She turned to them. Twin spots of red dotted her freckled cheeks.

"Why, hello, dears!" she greeted, clapping her chubby hands together once. Smiling, she asked Rory what they were looking for. Because, she announced, there was a sale on yellow uniforms for Deckwood. Curiously, the shop was nearly stuffed with racks of clothing. One sign read "Used but Never Abused." The clothing hanging there, however, clearly was more than used. One shirt was missing a sleeve. Another had claw marks raking the bottom. Yet still a third look mildly charred.

"We're looking for a custom-fitted inform for Farlost," he replied cheerily.

The woman eyed Amee suspiciously. "She's attending? A half-year?"

"Yes, I 'spose so."

"I haven't seen one like her in a long time," mused the woman. Her mouth opened in a tiny ellipse before snapping shut again. "I'll get one right off," she said, snapping her fingers. A moment later, she vanished into a thin puff of rosy smoke. Amee was again confounded by the woman's fascination with her. She was barely a squib – no, she was a witch. She looked up to Rory questioningly.

"I wonder what's got her off her rocker?" he muttered quietly.

Amee laughed. "Probably her missing scissors or something. Best not to worry about it."

Rory laughed, too. "Yeah, you're right. Oh, look! There's your uniform!"

And so it was. Hanging from the extended index finger of the woman was her Farlost uniform. It was indigo blue, like dark ink. The bottom was a shortish plaid skirt, and the top was a crisp white long sleeved button-up with a darker blue vest. On it was a plain emblem: a swirly gold F with a feather for its top prong.

The lady smiled shakily, partially revealing a deeply embedded dimple. "Now then, just use the multiplier spell and you'll be ready to attend Farlost tomorrow."

"Thank you." I offered. She nodded once, quickly, and bagged the outfit. Rory threaded it onto his arm and the two siblings wound their way back to the bustling shopfronts. A few oddly solemn teenagers entered a nearly deserted shop whose rusty metal sign creaked as it swung eerily back and forth. It read _Essential Companions_. A few owls rested on perches in the windows. Their wide, unblinking eyes studied Amee as she entered. They seemed to be contemplating something, only Amee didn't know what.

Without waiting for her brother to prattle on with the shopkeeper, she flagged down an employee. Animal noises echoed from every corner.

"I'm attending Farlost tomorrow," she announced. The employee's blue eyes widened. Why did they always do that? Was her hair unruly? Her Mother often said that it was. Amee smoothed it with a stiff hand before continuing. "and I need an owl – or a griffin," she added quickly as an afterthought, not knowing if she was an Avianics student or not.

The girl employee's eyes narrowed. Her face was somewhat shadowed by a dark set of robes with a large, overhanging hood. "Have you taken a magical assessment test?"

"No," Amee admitted, "I'm taking that on arrival tomorrow."

Rory tapped his little sister on the shoulder. "Let's just get an owl for now, huh?"

As she noticed Rory for the first time, the employee grinned. "I can take you to those. This way." She pointed towards the many hanging cages. There were owls of all kind and colors. There were softly hooting ones that looked like they could barely carry a small parcel, but the signs below them boasted that they were the fastest. Bigger ones with hefty price tags watched her, stared at her.

The employee flashed another charming smile at Rory before opening a cage. An owl hopped out. It was black as midnight with large yellow eyes.

"This one is perfect for a Farlost student," she said, "unless you're studying Avianics. We don't sell griffins here – too dangerous."

"We'll take it," Rory said agreeably, handing the girl a few sweaty-looking coins from the pouch.

She leaned up against a rack of books titled _Owl Care for the Beginner. _I hastily grabbed one.

"So, are you attending Hogwarts?" she asked Rory. He nodded, but she frowned. "I'm at Deckwood."

"Oh, that's nice. Maybe look me up?" Rory was so flirty sometimes, Amee noted. She needed her supplies. Turning to leave, she took the brass cage holding her new owl – Brew, she christened him – and headed for the door.

"Come one, Rory!" she called.

"Coming!" he shouted, jogging after her. When he reached her, he took the owl.

"I'll go get basic supplies – you go get a wand." He said, pointing to a shop that Amee had heard of before. It was the same one where He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named and Harry Potter got their famed brother wands. Ollivander's.

The man inside the shop examined her – Ollivander, Amee guessed rather easily.

"Name?" he questioned rather stiffly, like he'd just eaten a concrete-flavored Every Flavor bean.

The man raised his bushy eyebrows – she'd clearly said, "Amee Fieldmouse." A smile cracked his face in half at her answer. He descended down a tightly-packed aisle between two of the dusty stock-shelves which were all overflowing with thin cardboard boxes like the library had been with books. Only tidier, Amee thought, because none of the boxes were opened or carelessly lying about. She followed the man down that aisle. Using a worn-looking ladder to reach the tip-toppiest shelf, he grabbed a box unlike the others. While incredibly dusty, it was a delightful shade of baby blue and a white ribbon was tied in a bow at the top.

"D-don't you need to measure my hand or something?" Amee said.

Ollivander shook his head while climbing down. He took a final step to the floor, straightening his pinstriped vest with a short tug. "Oh, no, my dear," he recalled almost wistfully, "this wand has been waiting for you for a very long time."

Gently, he transferred the still unopened box to her. She didn't stop and say politely, 'thank you,' like other young witches might have; no, she was much too impulsive and excited for that. She violently opened the top. Inside the box were ruffles of white tissue paper. Amee wondered to herself, privately, if this wand had once been planned for a gift. No, no. That was ridiculous – she had been solely a squib for that past year and a half to her parents. This wand wasn't really meant for only her – Ollivander said this to all his customers, right?

Peeling away the layers of the paper was a quick job, but Amee took her time. Then she saw it – the wand.

"Golden oak, last edition, gold-wound," Ollivander sighed. While Amee had little grasp of what the words really meant, she easily guessed the meaning.

The wand, really, was the most beautiful that she'd thought that she'd ever seen. Perhaps this was because it had been awaiting her on the shelves since she was a giggling baby, perhaps it was because it had been owned once before with terrible results. But Amee didn't know these things, and she doubted the first strongly.

It was slender and twisty, the wand, smooth, and the color of the delicious crackly top of a crème brulee. Strands of gold (painted on? Or in the tree? Amee couldn't tell.) intertwined and spun with the wood grain until fading shortly before the end. Her fingers wrapped perfectly around the instrument perfectly.

Then, Rory burst into the shop. His face was ruddy, a pink spot was smeared on his cheek. Brew was hooting in his cage, and a few other bags – her uniforms' and her new school supplies – were strung onto his arm.

"What happened to you?" said Amee, disgusted at his disheveled appearance.

But Rory wasn't listening. Instead, his eyes fixed on her wand. "Little sister….is that yours?"

Ollivander answered for her. "Yes, Rory, it is."

"It's beautiful," Rory said, smiling. "just like you. But…" his eyes turned to Ollivander. "is that…"

"Yes," Ollivander nodded. "It is. But Amee is not like Jen. This wasn't Jen's wand. It's Amee's."

Amee placed the wand back into its box and closed the top. "Who's Jen?"

The two males exchanged uneasy, wary glances. "You will find out soon enough," Rory said. They turned to leave. Then Amee remembered- they hadn't paid for the wand yet!

"Oh! How much do we owe you, Mr. Ollivander?" she asked the shopkeeper. He waved his hand ominously.

"No – it's already been paid for, Miss. Fieldmouse. Good luck at Farlost."

She wondered how he knew that she was attending Farlost. He seemed to know much. Rory, too. Was there something that they weren't telling her?


	4. Chapter 4

Much to Amee's Mother's slight disturbance, she Apparated with Rory home that night – quite safely, with owl, wand (her Mother stared at it like it might burst into flames), and school books in hand. Well, admittedly, they were all stacked in Rory's hand except Brew, who hooted from his cage quite contentedly. The school year started tomorrow, Amee realized, and she had no way to get to school. As she tucked herself into bed, a dignified-looking owl swooped in through her window and landed on her bended knees.

"Well, hello there," said Amee, shocked. She untied the message from the owl's foot. He didn't leave though. Amee assumed that this was because his letter required an answer.

_Dear Amee Rosemarie Fieldmouse,_

_We at Farlost Academy are pleased to announce that a distinguished three year student, Mr. Evner Holbrook, will be escorting you to your first day of school. Mr. Holbrook will Apparate to your home at precisely 8 'o clock tomorrow morning. Please be packed and ready for your first day of studies at this time. Please reply indicating your confirmation of the owl's successful delivery of this letter._

Hastily, Amee scribbled a confirmation and watched in awe as the owl scooped himself back up and flew out the window in near silence only marred by the single beat of his enormous feathered wings. Amee stared at Brew with a determined look on her face.

"I hope you can fly like that," she instructed with a delicate wave of her finger. Brew blinked. Nearly hopping with excitement, Amee fell asleep against her adrenaline-soaked veins.

That morning, Amee woke before the dawns fiery spokes could dash through her window. She dressed in uniform, stuffed almost her entire closet's worth of clothes into her suitcase along with her books and wand, and balanced Brew's rather heavy, occupied cage on her right index finger. She hobbled down the stairs like this, grunting when her bags threatened to pop their zippers. Down the stairs and wearing a rather – ah, not-too-happy – expression on her face was Amee's mother, Bree Fieldmouse. Her pantsuit was unmistakably ironed.

"I suppose you're all ready, then?" she snapped. If Amee didn't know better, she would have thought that some kind of anger resided in her Mother, as if she didn't want Amee to be anything but a squib. Amee didn't know better.

"Yes, Mother," she sighed, dropping her suitcase with a very un-ladylike thump. Rory drowsily wafted down the stairs. His hair was tousled, his eyes wearing rather large bags under them of a lavender-ish color.

Wiping his eyes, he groaned, "Suspension work," he sighed. "Damned teachers don't give anybody a break."

Amee's Mother chastised him, but there was a slight softening to her voice. "Maybe try to stay out of trouble, then, Rory."

Interrupting what was sure to be a thrilling argument between the two was a sharp, tactful knock to the door.

"That'll be him, then." Amee smiled.

Bree Fieldmouse swung the door open. Standing before her was an unmistably handsome young man with scruffy, long brown hair and matching amber eyes. His blazer was wrinkled and unkempt-looking, his hands shoved into his pockets and a cocky half-smile curving his lips.

"They sent you?" snipped Mrs. Fieldmouse scrutinizing the boy.

The boy nodded, the smile still giving him a light, joking air. "I'm Enver, ma'am. Enver Holbrook. Third year at Farlost."

Amee's mother's mouth twitched. "Well, that's very nice, dear. I'm sure they sent someone quite capable of handling my daughter. After all, she's only twelve and a—"

"Yes, well," Enver cut her mother off with a decided clap of his hands. "We'll be going."

"Goodbye," muttered Amee's Mother, giving her a stiff hug. Enver hoisted her things into his hands. He was lanky, but lifted her heavy bags easily. He nodded his head to Brew.

"Better get your owl," he said. Amee did as told and she closed the door behind her.

"Well, grab on," Ever said impatiently. Amee wrapped an arm around him.

Then, the world spun. Amee's woozy head sharpened and her stomach twirled. Then, things settled. She was in a very cold place, right outside a massive castle. Several heightened towers extended from the corners, fading into misty-looking clouds.

"Here we are." Ever indicated the building. He had dropped Amee's things onto snow-covered grass. Unsatisfied of his newfound cold, Brew tucked his face under his wing.

"Can we go inside now," chattered Amee, wrapping her arms around each other. She was trying hard not to be incredibly impressed by the grandiose surroundings around her, unlike several other kids her age who milled around, mouths gaping and eyes bugging. "My owl is frosting over."

Enver laughed. It was a good, warming sound. "Sure. C'mon, Ames." He said the nickname like he had known the girl before him for years. Excitement trilled in Amee's chest as she entered. Enver indicated a massive spiral staircase in front of him. "That's where I live."

The room that they had entered was tiled, classy, and enormous. The ceiling was so tall. Black iron rails kept students from tumbling to the bottom of the floor. They were lined with curious faces, all clearly watching for the new students. Amee saw several odd faces, some smiling and some grimacing down at her. Enver deposited her things in a pile of other suitcases. Gently, Amee placed Brew on a table marked _NEW STUDENTS' OWLS. _He grabbed Amee's slack hand and pulled her down many halls in succession. She wasn't certain how to get back to the foyer anymore.

Students' voices grew louder into a steady, noisy hum. "Here we are," Enver said, waving to a few chattering girls, "The Banquet Hall."

It looked just like the pictures of the Hogwarts Dining area that she had seen over her brothers' shoulder. Candles bobbed high above them. At the teachers' table were the…well, teachers. One in specific looked odd – pale blond hair that fell to an end at the woman's waist and watery blue eyes that appeared clouded and milky. She was grasping something in her bony hand. Her chair was in the center of the stage-y area.

Enver saluted Amee, backing up and releasing her hand. "See ya – hey, good luck with the assessment."

He waltzed up to the very tip of a table, where he sat down at the head. There didn't seem to be an order to the way and places where the students' sat, but several young students ushered her to the far end of a table. The girl who was seated by Amee was a tall, slender, curveless, boyish-looking child with spiky auburn hair sticking out from the bottom of a rainbow-blocked knit cap.

"Hello," Amee greeted courteously. Maybe this girl would be her new friend.

The girl's eyes popped, as if she was shocked that Amee could speak. "Hi!" she squeaked in a high pitched tone.

"What's your name?" Amee had no desire to hear that irritating squeak again, but she needed to be polite. A letter from school explaining her apparent rudeness would not be welcomed by Amee's Mother by any means.

"Elspeth Ridges," the girl whispered reverently.

Just then, the blond teacher tapped her bell- that was in her hand. The room fell eerily silent.

"Hello, new students," her voice was soft and timid. "I am Professor Gerog, and I am a Seer. I am here to magically asses you. You will walk up here when I call your name, and I will take your hands and give you a score between one and a hundred. An older student will direct you to a permanent seat at the tables according to your score. I will also indicate your score between one and ten in your skill of Avianics. Depending on this score, you may attempt to train your very own griffin. However," the woman added in a low tone, "No matter your score in this area, you may not be able to escape your first Avianics class without fatal injuries."

Amee's eyes flicked to a girl bandaged and in a wheelchair. Both her arms were in stiff casts.

"Now then. Alfred Bogart." A plump boy with greasy curls walked up to the woman. Amee could see that his knees wobbled like jelly.

"Hmm," Professor Gerog deliberated, stroking the padded joints of the boy's stubby hand. "Sixty points for overall…." A few claps were instantly stifled. "One point for Avianics."

Amee tuned out until one boy received a score of twenty for overall.

"Oh, no," Elspeth whispered almost inaudibly.

"What?" Amee asked her.

Elspeth looked red in the face. "He'll be sent home tomorrow. That's too low a score for Farlost."

Amee thought of her skill of being a squib. Her score could be lower than that. A feeling of weighted dread plopped down on her. "You can be sent home?" she hissed.

"Oh, yes," Elspeth nodded. "My older brother was. He only got a thirty."

"Amee Rosemarie Fieldmouse."

There it was. She was called. Amee stood, brushing her plaid skirt off before steadily walking to the podium where Professor Gerog stood waiting her. A lump of worry had lodged itself in Amee's windpipe. Surely, she wasn't going to make it. All those hopes, those dreams, were so fake. Her Mother was right. She needed a Muggle school. With building tenseness, Amee felt the harsh gazes of the room digging into her back.

Gerog took Amee's slender, tan hands into hers. Redness splotched on the knuckles from carrying Brew's cage.

"Hmmm…" Gerog said, stroking the gentle curve of her palm. "Overall score of…."

Amee held her breath. Well, she thought, this was nice. Maybe I can get away with keeping Brew.

"Eighty-eight. Avianics score of nine point five."


	5. Chapter 5

Amee wrenched her hands out of Professor Gerog's like they were burning. Stunned, she numbly allowed herself to be seated at a table.

* * *

The night went smoothly for Amee. Needless to say, the first day of classes was exciting. Amee had gotten a heavy amount of sleep in her comfy bed – her things had somehow been transported to her room, and Brew to the school's owlry. According to Elspeth's quiet dialogue, the higher scores got better beds. She might have been saying this due to her own raw score of sixty.

Her first class was with Professor Wesley, a tall, blue-eyes brunette who looked about twenty. A lively sparkle danced in his eye.

"Hello everybody," he greeted fondly. The students stared at him.

"Yes, yes, I know – I'm American. But we can teach magic, you know?" he said plainly. A laugh emitted from Amee despite her efforts. She found it funny – all her worries about stern teachers from Rory and she gets the most relaxed Potions teacher on the planet. And an American, too!

"Now, let's start with the most basic potion: The Masking Potion. Turn to page two in your book and pair up."

Elspeth wandered over to Amee and made the potion with meticulous care. She did it, though, without a single expression to Amee, who squinted at the page and succeeded in making a spotted mushroom cloud pop out over her cauldron.

Professor Wesley laughed. "Nice one! Amee, is it?"

Amee nodded, a hot blush rising in her cheeks. It hadn't been her fault that she wasn't much good on her first day. Well, second day. She heard whispers snake the room. How could such a high-scored half year mess up the simplest potion? They screamed at her.

"It's okay," Wesley grinned. "Look over at Elspeth's – well done. You can take this worksheet home and try the potion again tomorrow." He handed Amee a smartly folded paper.

After class, Amee rushed down the hall, although she was unaware of what was on her schedule next. A pretty, petite girl bobbed up to Amee. Her hair was silky and brown, pulled into a bountiful, curly updo. Loose curls framed her face, bouncing in her step.

"So….how was your first day?" she asked.

Amee clutched her books to her chest. "Fine, so far."

The girl pointed to herself. "_I'm_ Marcena Elmore." A cheery dimple appeared in her cheek.

"Amee," Amee introduced, smiling. This girl wasn't as timid nor as silent at Elspeth. She looked perky, happy, and bubbly.

"I heard your score was like ninety," she said with wide eyes.

"No," Amee laughed, "Only eighty something."

"That's still more than me!" she said, as if building Amee up. "I only got a seventy four."

"That's good," offered Amee vaguely, not really knowing if it was good or not.

"Oh!" exclaimed Marcena.

Waltzing up to them was another girl."Talking about the worksheet?" she grinned. Instantly, Amee was struck by her odd looks – jet black, straight hair and electric blue eyes. A warm Scottich accent cut the ethereal air which her features posted. She shrugged indifferently. "I make all C's anyway, I'll head to the library later."

"What?" gasped Marcena. "But Shea—"

"Yeah, yeah," the girl sighed, "I know. Straight A ninety-five brother. Actually," she added hastily, "Gauril might let me copy off of him. I might hit a B. Then again, he's so chatty..."

Marcena laughed. Amee faintly remember Professor Wesley addressing a skinny, bony, freckly boy sitting in the front of the room and creating a perfect potion that she had envied. She didn't want to spend more time on this stupid potion than needed be. She burned to see what Avianics had to do with training griffins…and if she would survive training her own. Where would you go about getting a griffin, anyways?

"I'm Berkley Scotsworth," said the Scottish girl. Her eyes turned upwards, down the hall; walking across the maroon hall rug was a tall, slightly muscular third year. He wasn't as bulky as Rory or as thin as Enver, and a thick, black strap of a messenger bag was slung over his chest. "And that's my brother, Shea." Berkley said with obvious contempt.

Amee tripped; she hadn't been paying attention, and her shoelace caught her foot. Her own bag split and her books scattered with her papers and her dreaded worksheet. Shea, Berkley's brother, as she said, stopped and dashed up to the mess, to Amee's surprise. He collected the books and shoved the pile at her. He stood again and stared intently at Amee. Then he walked away, just as quickly and silently as he had come.

"Hey!" Amee shouted after him, "thanks!"

He didn't answer. Though nervous, something about Shea had stilled her nerves. She galloped up to his retreating form.

"Bug off," he said dismissively, scowling. He had his sister's Scottish twang, but on him it was deeper, more rich but definitely colder, like cold water. Just as repelling, too.

"What?" Maybe she hadn't heard him clearly. Shea glared at her, the white knuckled grip that he had on his bag's strap tightening. Not surprisingly, he was almost identical to his sister – coal black locks and icy blue irises. Shea's jaw was stronger, though, his features more rugged and almost harsh. He seemed cold and unfriendly. With amusement, however, Amee looked up into his eyes and noted a light spray of freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose. Only someone who looked for them could notice the light brown feature on his pale, almost glowing skin.

"I _said_, bug off, Amee Rosemarie Fieldmouse," he snarled. Leaving her wide-mouthed and gaping, he stormed away, adding lowly, "squib."

Berkley caught up to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Sorry about him," she apologized, real sincerity dripping from her tone. "he's always like that."

Amee blinked away the sting in her brown eyes. "Oh – uh, yeah. No, it's fine," she lied. The comment Shea had said was offhand, cruel. She hadn't done anything to provoke the fourth year, had she? He had no reason to immediately help her…and then hate her. A little bubble of annoyance popped inside of Amee, unleashing some animosity to Berkley's older brother.

Marcena shrugged. "What's your next class?" she inquired, changing the subject with her dismissive tone.

Amee glanced up at her pile of books that Shea handed her. "No idea."

"Aha!" exclaimed Berkley, taking a small slip of paper from the top of the stack. "You have Dark Arts Defense with me next!"

"Nooo," pouted Marcena, her bottom lip protruding in a pretty pout. "I'm going to be all alone for Pre-Divination with Professor Gerog."

"Ouch." Berkley said unapologetically. She hooked Amee's arm in hers and tugged her down the hallway. And to think that just yesterday Amee was worried about making friends, she marveled. She ran over the list of her acquaintances from Farlost so far.

1. Enver Holbrook – third year, practically the Golden Boy of Farlost by everyone's treatment of him.

2. Elspeth Ridges – quiet, mousy girl with a strange brilliance for Potions class.

3. Marcena Elmore – friendly, bubbly Marcena. Amee smiled here in her list. She liked Marcena's instant warmth towards her.

4. Berkley Scotsworth . Friendly enough, but…

5. Shea Scotsworth. Amee frowned and gritted her teeth. What had she done to provoke him so?


	6. Chapter 6

**(A/N: For a more personal view in chapters, I'm switching to first person point of view. Even though I note that the Harry Potter books are not written this way, I hope you'll appreciate this change as it allows me to really dig deep with Amee.)**

The first day of Dark Arts Defense was easy – basically, a creepy professor giving instructions on some spell I wasn't paying attention to. I found out who Gauril was – he was the freckly, blond kid in the front who never spoke but knew all the answers. Berkley did copy off of him between her passing notes to me crazily. Deep in the back was a dark-skinned boy with fuzzy hair and a loose uniform. She had a crush on him….no doubt. It was annoying, though. I didn't let it bother me because I was concentrating on how to find Enver – he was who I had met first, plus he was a third year.

I glanced fleetingly at my schedule; I had a half day of Avianics next. Dissatisfied, I wrinkled my nose. This subject wasn't discussed, apparently. Only two or three other students every year, received decent scores and the chance to obtain a griffin. Any other information I asked Berkley was met with an angry scrunching of eyebrows and muttering about 'secrets.'

Finally, I exited to a large field behind the school. Berkley was off to Spell-Casting for Beginners: Technique while I was off to…this mysterious class.

When I reached the field, I was shocked by who I found there. Enver was looking mussed up, brown hair messy in the wind and body wrapped up in a cozy-looking tan coat and striped scarf. Beside him, staring pointedly at the churning clouds above and stomping some offending snow was Shea Scotsworth.

I stood at the far end of the field while the two chatted animatedly. Enver made motions with his hands, but really….Shea just shoved his hands farther into his pockets and fixed his eyes on the sky.

Enver waved. I noticed this out of the corner of my eye, but I didn't want to think he was waving at me. Timid, I waved back. He grinned. "Come on over, Amee!" he shouted above the light whip of the wind. It wasn't snowing, but the gray clouds above promised a fresh sheet by morning.

"Hey," I said, feeling myself blush in the cold.

"So….you're in Avianics, huh, newbie?" Enver said. Shea's lip curled and he walked over to another student; a tall, blond third year wrapped in a parka. Gauril was one of the students here, too. For some reason, he looked eager to talk to Shea. He was weaseling himself up to the parka girl.

"Uh….yeah," I answered, trying not to get offended by Shea's obvious dislike for me. Really, what had I done?

"Don't worry; you'll do fine," Enver assured me with a pat to my back, mistaking my concerned look for worry. I wasn't worried. I was mad. Shea was starting to bother me more than someone should on my first day of classes.

And that's when things got phenomenal. I heard a loud, piercing shriek from the sky. Squinting to see what it was, I leaned back and pointed my eyes towards the sky. Massive golden wings parted the misty firmament, swooping towards me. I made out a beak, four sharp paws with massive, curved talons and amber eyes. I skittered sideways as the creature landed with a clumsy thump beside Enver.

"Hey there, Rafe," he greeted, tentatively stroking the creature's beak. It was at least twice as big as a Nissan Altima in height. Golden brown as the color of caramelized honey and feathered until its bottom half, the creature remained fierce and tense, though its wings were tightly compacted against its back. For warmth, I guessed.

"That," said a delicate, smooth, soprano voice. "is a Golden Eastern Griffin, the largest of all the breeds."

My head swiveled to examine the speaker. She was very pretty in her old age – wrinkles that indicated long periods of smiling and warm green eyes like the forest floor. She was nestled in a baby blue trench coat and a bowler hat with a large peacock feature twitching as she talked. In a way, she seemed like the very best kind of person.

"I'm Delia, your Avianics teacher. During this course, you will discover your true skill in this area. As you can see here, Enver has managed quite a unique feat: training the largest breed of griffin with only minor bodily harm."

"Just bruises," boasted Enver loudly. Delia laughed. It was a sweet sound, but sharp at the same time, like tiny bells being dropped to the floor.

"Now," Delia clapped. "Let's go choose our eggs. Some of yours may not hatch; others will find their griffins leaving them for other students here. This is perfectly normal, and I will expect that only two of you will find yourselves still in Avianics at the end of the term."

"Excuse me!" I said bravely.

"Yes, Amee?" Delia asked. How did she know my name?

I swallowed thickly. "But-but aren't griffins incredibly dangerous?"

Delia's face took on a more sinister edge, not unlike Shea's grimace. "Yes, they are. Extremely so. They are never pets, children," she addressed the class gravely. "They are powerful companions."

We walked in silence until we reached an old greenhouse. Some of the windows were cracked. Abandoned _and _old, I decided. Why were we here?

"You will, in this beginning exercise," explained Delia, "tramp into the woods and find your own griffin eggs. I expect that you have all read where to find the eggs of such creatures?"

Everyone's heads nodded dutifully except my own. Enver lagged behind the group, his griffin following him with a protective eye settling on his companion.

"Enver and Shea will find you if there's any trouble. Simply scream."

I wondered if this instruction was sarcastic or if we really could find ourselves in such peril in such a short amount of time.

"Off you go!" boomed Delia, throwing her thin arms into the air. I rocketed towards the woods without an idea of what I was looking for. I'll admit, it wasn't the best plan….but I couldn't let Enver or Shea see me staring blankly at the woods like I expected a griffin egg to roll into my leather-booted feet. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the pretty parka blond dash sharply to her right, trailed closely by a dark, fiercely running figure; Shea. For some reason, anger heated my steps at him. He had an unusual ability to scrape his way under my skin.

I knew I didn't have a lot of time. I began to simply listen for the crunching snow under my feet, walking numbly through the forest. I didn't know the way back anymore, and I was no closer to finding a griffin egg than an hour ago. My scenery had changed, thick forest replaced by craggy granite. Occasionally, I'd hear an excited squeal – and even once, a scream. Perhaps this mission was really dangerous after all.

That's when I spotted it. Deep under an unusually growing oak with roots encircling it was a griffin egg. It was white, flecked with brown spots. The roots looked like they grew over it. Grinning, I grabbed a sharp slab of rock and began sawing. A shrill noise echoed from directly behind me, and I froze. Slowly and cautiously, I saw a full-grown griffin. It looked like the egg; snowy white and freckled. And here I was, in my blatantly obvious taking of its offspring.

"Um," I whispered, beginning to feel my knees shake. I dropped the granite. Twitching, the griffin regarded me before raising its paw. Its claws were pitch black and fully extended. Poised to strike. I didn't know any spells for this. So I did the one thing I knew would attract infinite attention.

I screamed.

I didn't have time to wait, though. The griffin seemed alarmed by my shriek, but not really disturbed – more like surprised. Then, I heard the swoop of wings from above me. It scrambled into the tree line, the noises. I couldn't see much but a massive shadow. Enver?

"Hold still," pleaded a rich, rough voice – Enver, on the verge of worry. He swung down on his griffin. The two animals regarded each other. Ever impulsive and rash myself, I freed the egg in question. The griffin who had attempted to attack me didn't seem to notice the absence, but most of my view was blocked by the Enver's massive animal.

"Get on." Enver said through a locked jaw. I did so, shoving the egg under my jacket. It was length of my forearm, big and bulbous under my many layers. It stretched the fabrics, straining to slip out. I grabbed onto massive tufts of griffin feathers as we lifted into the sky. I mean, looking back on it, it was a stupid move to take the egg….

But I was too wrapped up in all of the scents, sights and sounds to remember much, let alone the cold shell stuffed under my coat. Enver had shifted me until I was in front of him, and I leaned back and felt that he was…oddly warm. Twirls of cloud twisted around his griffin, whose muscles I could feel rippling with the strokes of his wings. The cold was bitter, but I was warm enough against Enver. Peels of blue sky slid out from under the clouds, and we were far above the sky and trees, staring up at the endlessly shining sun.

It was paradise.


	7. Chapter 7

When Enver and I landed, I nearly fell off of his griffin, somehow managing to set the hidden egg onto the ground. It was then that I noticed in my slashing the item free, I had been careless and a Z-shaped cut was oozing redness from my arm. It was deep; I could see the bone, white and traced with small vessels. Wooziness itched into my chest. All that blood….

"Oops," I breathed as the world warped and trembled before me. Blackness puffed up and enclosed my vision. Besides the faint hardness and cold of the snow beneath me, I didn't feel anything more.

When I woke up, I saw a casually hunched over Enver leaning against the back of a chair. I was in the Infirmary. Glancing quickly at my arm, I felt a sharp stab of pain and noticed white gauze in thick layers around the space from my elbow to my wrist and over my hand. Stiffly, I tried to bend my fingers.

"You should have told me you were hurt," Enver said kindly. I shrugged. More pain shuddered up my forearm. I concentrated, feeling a wrinkle appear in my forehead. I sighed. They were too numb to move.

Enver rested his elbows on his knees. He looked exhausted. "I'm serious. You could have been more seriously hurt."

"But I wasn't," I pointed out with an air of finality. "Besides, I would have died if it weren't for you."

Enver laughed nervously. I wondered just how crazy he thought I was. I should have read that forsaken chapter in my Avianics book….wait, I didn't have one. So, really, it wasn't my fault. Or perhaps I was insane, and this was just my last-ditch attempt to convince myself that while I was being rescued from a massive, feral griffin that stealing its unhatched offspring was a logical response. "Yeah..listen, Amee. What possessed you to go after a Freckled Northern griffin egg?" he asked me incredulously.

"That's what that was?" I rubbed my forehead. "Cool."

"Um, not really," Enver stared at me. "It's the hardest to train. Leah and Shea managed to find a Black Eastern. Those are easy. Why not follow them?"

I focused on my bandaged arm again. "I didn't see them," I lied.

"You know who Leah is, right?"

I twirled a finger up, like _whoop-dee-do_. "Parka, pretty, model-looking?"

"Yeah, that's her." Enver's voice sounded wistful and nostalgic.

"Anyways," I snarled. "How long have I been out?"

"A week, at least. The stone you used wasn't a stone, but the fractured section of another shell. Poisonous properties."

"Oh, nice, Amee," I mumbled. I really had a talent for getting hurt. And failing.

"Yeah," Enver chuckled. "You sure know how to pick 'em. Your griffin should be hatching tomorrow or the day after."

"You should go," I sighed. "It's time for classes to begin."

Enver's face took on a look of concern. Why was he doing this? He didn't need to stick around. But, thankfully, he didn't protest. "Get better soon, Amee."

Then, I slept. My dreams were usually absent, but this night my mind wandered down paths which I had long barricaded.

"You're nothing but a failure!" my Mother's sharp voice intoned to me. I felt my eleven year old self's face crumple. "Well! Answer me!"

"Yes, ma'am," my youthful voice answered, shaking. I could say nothing more or risk being grounded to my room alone. And nothing was worse than seclusion from everyone. Not that they cared in the first place.

"Get out of here," spat my Mother again. "You disgust me."

It played over and over again, leaving out the last part of that memory. Rory had rushed forwards, cradling me in his arms as I cried. He had become my rock, even though he hadn't ever protested that I was a disappointment to our family. Why couldn't I be normal, even now, at Farlost? I had to go and get myself hurt, had to not follow Shea and that girl, Leah. Had to forge my own, harder path. I always did this. Never content with following others. Rebellious. Rash.

Stupid.

The next day, I was awake and in my dorm again. My newfound friends had sent me gifts: Berkley, a copy of her notes from my missed classes, which were illegible due to her chicken scratch handwriting; Marcena, a new headband, metal with gold engraving; Gauril, more notes – his more organized. I had almost forgotten that he was in Avianics that day, too. I wondered absently if he had found his own egg. Probably something harmless, something that couldn't get him killed. I had to be like this, didn't I? Infuriatingly impulsive.

Carefully, and feeling pinches of pain from my arm, I dressed in uniform and hobbled down to my class. It was time for Potions. I managed down the stairs from my dorm room and into the class. Professor Wesley's smile was instantaneous.

"Amee!" He greeted. "Come to join us? I was worried you were missing another day of school."

"Nah," I said, as nonchalantly as I could manage through my arm's persistent throbbing. "My griffin egg might hatch today."

"Mr. Holbrook told me. How exciting!" Wesley pointed to my seat, where Elspeth was looking excited at my return instead of her usual mousy shyness. "Now, why don't you restart on the Masking Potion? You might find it easier with Elpeth's help. You won't mind, Miss Ridges?"

Elpeth squeaked out an answer. "Of course not."

It was easier, I created the potion and successfully turned my frog into a miniature army man who really walked, patrolling my desk with a firm discipline. Elspeth seemed happy to help me. Maybe my first judgment of the quiet girl was premature, I decided. When I got out of that class, Berkley and Marcena attacked me with questions. Marcena's hair was down, in ringlets. Berkley's was nearly matted, but her delicate smile was wide and plentiful. Before I could answer all of their questions, someone shoved into my injured arm. I clenched my teeth as a solid bar of pain intensified my expression.

When it dulled to a blunt aching, I opened my eyes to see Shea. His eyes were on my arm, his expression slightly surprised. This was new: impenetrable Shea Scotsworth, surprised. I had assumed that Enver would have told him about my injury.

"You were hurt," he stated blankly.

"Yes, I was," I said, my jaw tight. "And you just impaled it with your elbow."

Shea's full bottom lip assisted him in his grimace. "Oh, well." He sauntered down the hallway, leaving me alone again without another word,

"Good Lord, Shea!" Berkley called after her brother. "Get off it!"

Marcena stroked my arm. "Is it okay now? He's such a jerk."

"Yeah, it's fine," I assured her, yanking it to my side and walking into the Banquet Hall for lunch. I hadn't paid much attention when Professor Gerog placed me according to my score.

"Uh, guys." I swallowed. "Where do I sit?"

Marcena covered her mouth, suppressing a giggle without much luck. "Over here, silly!"

She took me to a place towards the head of a table. I was seated across from none other than Enver Holbrook. He looked up at me and grinned.

"Back to class, I see? Ready for Avianics after lunch?"

I spooned some soup (cucumber, maybe?) into my mouth. "We have that today?"

"Of course."

"Oh," I said shortly. "Well, guess I'll be there. Has my egg hatched?"

"It won't until it hears your voice," Enver said slowly, as if speaking to a young child.

"But I thought Delia said that our griffins might leave for other Avianics students.."

Enver shrugged. "They'll only hatch in front of the person who took them."

Well, that's good news….just kidding. I mean, while I wanted to see my Freckled Northern hatch, I was in no condition to wrangle a baby griffin, what with my arm and all. I'd make a fool out of myself. Surely, Enver knew that.

"Don't worry," he told me. "Professor Delia paired us older students up to help you younger ones. I'm with Leah, since Shea helped her find her egg."

Repulsion crawled up my spine. "I'm with Shea?"

"No, no," Enver assured me, laughing. "You're with Delia. Shea specifically requested not to be with you."

"He would," I said spitefully. Instead of dwelling on this face, I stared into Enver's brown eyes.

"I'll still see you, right?"

Enver grinned again, as if pleased. "Always. We have to stick together, no? I saved your life, right…that has to mean something. You might get into trouble again," he accused teasingly.

Something told me that I would.


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: Thank you to my **new editing crew**: Allison, Hannah, Wesley, Katherine, Jacob, and Whitt. If you'd like to join, let me know by Private Message or in your review. Details will be given right away upon request. The job is simple - you get to give suggestions and see my drafts for this and my other stories, correcting grammar and helping me develop my stories. I'd love to have any of you guys on my team.

Chapter Notes: This chapter moves a bit fast, but the adventure's about to get started.

* * *

After lunch, Enver and I faced the blizzard-like weather. He cast a spell that repelled the stinging flakes, making our walk cold and windy, but better. Though we still had to practically forge our own path through the foot of snow. I had to borrow a pair of his snow boots...not to my surprise, they quite dwarfed my feet. When we reached the old greenhouse, we slammed the door behind us to see Gauril, Leah, and Shea already present. Delia stepped out from behind Shea, who had at least three inches on Enver. His cheeks were flushed. Tucked into the pockets of my coat, my fists clenched angrily.

"Now then," Delia piped cheerily. "Let's get hatching! Have you all prepared your first words to your griffin?"

Enver shoved me a tiny note bearing the words, _Klltythae mareia. _In answer to my questioning look, he hissed, "The snow falls beautiful, but nothing compared to you."

Oh – so the way to a griffin's heart was flattery? Seemed rather egotistical. I nodded dutifully, forming the words through my cold lips. Now that I had a chance, I saw Leah's egg – round and solid black. Gauril's was robin's egg blue and smaller than ours.

I concentrated on mine. "Kllthae mareia," I whispered. The egg fractured, a small crack forming and splitting it down the middle. My breath caught, and I held my injured my arm behind myself. The last thing I needed was for the baby to think my arm was its first meal.  
"Wow, look!" squealed Leah, hurrying from her egg and over to mine. "It's hatching!"

I ignored her, repeating the words over and over. "Kllthae mareia." Maybe this time I'd get it right. I noticed Enver's form straightly behind me, watching with that trademark smirk-smile. While I didn't doubt his griffin-training skills, I wished he wouldn't stalk me so creepily. Over Gauril's furrowed brow and hunched form, Shea was glaring holes into Leah's unresponsive egg.

"Leah," he beckoned her. Leah skipped back over to him, fanning her face. It made me angry, how pretty she looked – even bundled back up in that dang parka. She was wearing brown tights and tidy-looking brown boots. Taking an uneasy look at Enver's boots on my feet, I blushed.  
"Oops! My bad! I won't leave you again," she apologized, speaking some words in a hushed tone to her egg. Gauril's egg was cracking, more so than even mine. I beamed at him before turning my attention to where it was supposed to reside.

My griffin was pushing up on its shell, and then a fragile wing peeked out of the covering. The creature was twice the length of two notebooks side-by-side, and it had a little tiny beak, and spotted, downy feather wings.  
"Now," Delia shouted to me gently, "tell it its name."

At first, I panicked. After all, what is a good name for a griffin? What was Enver's name for his? Would I give a stupid name? My mind scrambled through them faster than a blink, resting on one as it sounded in my mind.

"Wait – what gender is my griffin?" I muttered stupidly to Enver. He smiled, stomping in place to keep warm. I was shocked by how calm and gentle he was being today…this was different from the rowdy, mischievous Enver that I had previously seen. He'd, apparently, exploded a tree in Farlost's front yard sometime when I was out from my arm. Figures.

"It's a girl," Enver answered me.

"Yuki. That's her name." It meant snow. Hence, it was perfect for my little snow-griffin. Cute, but deceiving of Yuki's real form: a raging lion-bird-thing. Not most creative, but perfect. Yuki seemed to like her name, flapping her little wings once.

Leah shouted out a name for her griffin, too. "Cyan!"

Really? The word for blue? I stifled a laugh, but Enver cut me off. "Shush. She can name it what she wants."

Yeah, if she wanted to look completely uncreative, she could. I didn't concentrate on her griffin too much, nor Gauril's. I was too busy watching Yuki stumble across the frozen ground, tiny claws leaving scratches on the thin sheet of ice. She cawed once, gently. Carefully, I ignored Enver's warning look and instead lifted Yuki into my arms. Her eyes were brown, just like mine. But they were different, because one was striped with blue like a candy cane. Beautiful. The griffin nipped my finger affectionately. That is, I guessed that it was affectionately, because the other option was that I would lose a finger. And that was not an option that appealed to me.

The next six months were boring. Apparently, after a griffin hatches, it needs to gain some build and size before you can train it. So while Enver and Shea nursed our young new companions, I was left to study. Between visits to the infirmary for my still-hurt arm (when they stripped the bandages, I discovered that the skin was decomposing around the cut, turning a sickly shade of green and yellow) and trying to wrangle Berkley from attacking her brother on a daily basis, things were pretty quiet.

Enver, I discovered, was, after all, a notorious prankster. In those three months, he had been accused of stink-bombing two girls' bathrooms, changing two suits of stately armor in the hallways into animatronic figures which shouted, "WHAT HO!" at passers-by, and blowing up three more trees. I found it funny, and by his avoidance at expulsion or detention, the faculty did, too. He was the Golden Boy just as Shea's past (despite my secretive prying) was permeated with hidden secrets. When I asked Berkley about him, she just redirected the topic. I turned thirteen with little fanfare.

Berkley wanted to take me to the nearby Muggle village for the day, but it turned out that Shea and I shared a birthday, though he was turning fifteen. But our party was interrupted when Delia burst in, looking frantic and dressed all in blue, to tell us that Gauril's griffin, Norbert, hadn't survived the night. It was sobering, but the chances of the prematurely-hatching griffin surviving had been slim. It really brought us all into perspective.  
That is, except Shea. He was still...Shea. As infuriating as that was.


	9. Chapter 9

The day had finally come. We were starting training on our griffins today. Gauril was back at his dorm. As excited as I was about training Yuki, I still felt sympathetic for the shy, nerdy boy. He deserved Yuki more than I. Something else itched at me, too. What if Yuki decided that Leah was a better trainer for her? What would happen? Would Leah have her griffin (Cyan. Cringe.) and Yuki, too?

These thoughts ran swirls and laps in my brain, causing a sharp thunk to reverberate from my head. Ouch. A headache.

The summer was in full swing. While Rory, Rhonda, Rachel, and Alex were home…Farlost took students all year. Besides, my Mother had approved my request to stay here without batting an eyelash. It was easier without everyone hounding me. About half of the students took the break. Marcena was in the Bahamas with her family. Berkley and Shea stayed. Gauril stayed, much to my vexation and reminding of my griffin-egg-theiving adventure. Enver stayed. So, overall, it just meant that the more annoying older students (except the ever-persistent Shea) were out of my hair.

We had started an easy banter, Enver and I. He walked with me when we were on our way to the greenhouse.

"Now," Enver's voice was clear. He was in casual, non-uniform clothes, as was I. "Yuki might be a little crazy after not seeing you for so long. And, she'll full grown physically, so watch out."  
Something I had been meaning to ask someone who knew griffins popped into my mind errantly.

"Will I be able to ride her yet?"

Enver shrugged. "I don't know. I could ride Barley pretty early on." That's what his massive golden griffin's name was – Barley. However, I had yet to see Shea's dragon. I smothered a laugh thinking about him on Barley. Thin, leanly muscled Shea astride strong, muscular Barley.

"What's so funny?" Enver arched an eyebrow.

"Nothing," I said through my sudden fit of giggles. Enver's contorted into an expression of instant shock. Following his gaze, I saw Shea's griffin.

And I ate my mind's words instantly. His griffin was nothing like Enver's. Shea looked completely in his element, sheathed in a black's rider's outfit, not unlike the Assasin's Creed garb. Complete with high-lacing black combat boots. Smirking, his griffin reared back and shrieked confidently.  
Shea was…no, no. He's awful.

His griffin, I concentrated to distract my traitorous thoughts. Black, sleek, and beautiful. The same size height-wise as Barley, but ten times scarier looking. Barley was impressive. This griffin was…..wild.

"See something you like? Or are you done staring?" Shea's voice permeated my gaping. My mouth snapped shut. He looked angry at my presence. Focus, Amee, focus. Scooting past Shea, I saw a smaller griffin. Yuki. She was gorgeous. Elegant.

Her height was smaller than Barley or Shea's black griffin, her blue-streaked eye shining. She looked slim, and more agile than the other two. Behind Yuki was Cyan, a green-eyed white griffin with a bulky shape and sulky form. Leah was already on her, practically screaming excitement. Enver gave her a thumbs-up and she grinned.

"So.." I trailed off, watching Yuki stamp impatiently. She knew who I was, and she wanted to fly. "How does one board the SS griffin?"

Enver looked bashful. Twin spots of pink dotted his cheeks. "Let me help you."

"Sure," I said. Before I could say anything more, Enver's strong arms were around my waist, and I was scrambling up Yuki's back. When he released me, he was firmly behind me on Yuki, his arms ringing my middle.

"Now," he said, his breath warm on my ear. "Are you ready?"

I didn't have to think before answering, "Yeah."

Enver placed my hands gently on Yuki, telling me to lean backwards and sideways as I wanted her to. Other instructions to get her to speed up were harder. Shea had disboarded his griffin and was now right behind Leah on Cyan, gruffly giving her instructions. I almost laughed aloud.

Enver's disapproval was apparent. "You're laughing again."

I smiled. "I know. It's just so funny, Shea helping Leah. She's so...bubbly."

"I get it." Enver nodded. "And Shea's not exactly the most friendly of people?"

"Exactly."

A gust of warm air affronted me. I shivered with the sudden change of temperature. Enver guided my hands to dip Yuki lower, placing us below the cloud level and the sudden fluctuations in temperature. Needless to say, I was on top of the moon. Flying was more than imagined, and it was a whole lot easier than when Enver rescued me from that bigger griffin. I guess that they really could be trained. But then, if it was this easy, why hadn't other schools like Hogwarts implemented this? I wondered this to myself as the daily flying lesson ended with Yuki's tired swoop to the grass below.

Leah and Shea thudded to the ground beside us. "Good job," grunted Shea to Leah. She grinned. Of course, I noticed with dislike, a cute dimple dotted her right cheek. So dang cute.

"You did awesome," Enver even admitted to the blonde. She looked thoroughly pleased with herself. Her arms were crossed. Shrugging, I passed her and high-fived her. Quickly, I remembered Yuki behind me. Shea's griffin was pacing nervously beside her.

"I'm taking Shade flying. You cool with these two?" Shea pointed at Leah and I accusingly. Enver nodded, and Shea took off on Shade.

Taking Yuki's reigns, I found her unwilling to move more than an inch. She struggled against the ropes, rearing back where Cyan trotted happily behind Leah.

"Come on, Yuki!" I groaned at her, pulling with my full weight. She staggered backwards stubbornly. I moaned again, yanking and pulling as hard as I could. This is just my luck, I thought. Out of all the super-powerful, hard-to-train breeds, I choose the most stubborn and embarrass myself in front of Leah and Enver. Of course, I noted satisfactorily, Shea could be here. That would make it worse.

Enver looked pleased. "Good job. Surely that'll work the hundredth time," he said sarcastically.

I glared at him. "I'd like to see you do better," I challenged. But then I remembered the phrase that Enver had given me so long ago on the day of Yuki's hatching. Maybe those words were the key. "What did you tell me to say to Yuki on the first day?"

Enver smirked. "Those magical words only work for hatching." He crossed his arms and maintained a smug look which I knew was only for my infuriation. It was working.

"Come ON, Yuki!" Leah said enticingly, patting her lap as if my griffin was going to bound into her manicured hands. As I found the gesture annoying, it shocked me when Enver went all moony-eyed over her. Right. Because the number one requirement for girlfriends was 'Must be able to call griffin.'

At least Shea wasn't there, I kept reminding myself as Yuki attempted to wriggle out of her ropes.

"Need some help?" sneered a very smooth voice from behind me.

Freaking perfect.


	10. Chapter 10

"No," I snapped, "I'm fine."

Yuki beat her wings once, gaining a few feet of air before hitting the ground again.

"You sure?" Shea observed, walking casually around Yuki and noting my struggle.

I gritted my teeth together. "Positive." I wasn't about to let Shea ruin this, too. My hurt arm was almost better now, but I could feel it beginning to smart, tingles of pain shooting tiny pricks. I squeezed my eyes shut and pulled harder. More pain.

The ropes in my hands began to give, slipping through my palms. I bounced back. Clawing for ground, Yuki was still fighting me. _Come on_, bird thing!

"Here." Two strong hands gripped mine, forcing them over the rope with more intensity. Then, they forced me to give, allowing Yuki a few inches of slack. She blinked, as if confused. I jutted my elbow out, catching someone in the ribs.

"Ouch."

I smiled with small satisfaction. "My bad." Then Yuki reared up, a movement which would have slid me across the grass if it wasn't for Shea, whose hands were still on mine, keeping me firmly rooted in place. As much as my hate for him had grown, I was in no place to refuse help. I moaned as my cut began to open up. Stretching the skin and splitting it, spots of blood began to show.

"Enver! Can't you do this?" I shouted. Before I could ask again, he had moved Shea and switched places, Shea now directly in front of Yuki, guiding her with his hands and gestures.

"All you had to do was ask," Enver breathed.

I found new strength, yanking back with our combined body weight and gaining ground. Once Shea had gotten onto Yuki's back, she realized that we weren't a force to be messed around with. She let Shea steer her into a fringing patch of forest where heavy, enchanted chains held her by one foot. It wasn't cruel, but needed for them not to run away. Until they learned to love their companions (inYuki's case, me) they would be kept in this way.

Shea hopped down from Yuki's feathered back, rubbing his hands together and looking altogether proud of himself in some egotistical way. "I believe you owe me a thank you."

"No, I don't think I do considering I never asked for your help."

Enver placed a hand on my shoulder. "Amee, be reasonable," he pleaded. I shook him off.

"I am being reasonable. I'll never need your help," I spat at Shea.  
His expression was unreadable. He didn't say anything more, instead shoving his hands into the front pocket of his riding tunic and striding off.

"That was harsh," Enver told me.  
My eyes bugged. He wasn't serious. "Are you kidding?" I slung my arms up in the air. Something cold and wet hit me in the nose. Suddenly surprised, I touched a finger to it and drew away sticky, warm liquid. Blood. Hesitantly, I looked down at my right arm. My Z-shaped, nearly healed wound was re-opened, bleeding profusely.

"Crap," I groaned. Enver sighed and stripped of his hoodie, pressing the green fabric onto my arm.

"He could've prevented this from happening, you know." Enver turned my arm over in his hands, waiting for an answer. "He's a ten in Avianics?"

"A ten?" I was a nine, apparently rare enough in the Farlost community. I still got fish-eyed stares and wide, open mouths when I walked down the hallway. Since I couldn't help it, I'd learned to position myself behind Elspeth, Marcena, Berkley, or, heck, even Gauril. The attention was welcome the first three weeks…but after that, just plain annoying.

Enver nodded, leading me back towards the massive Farlost building. I'd probably need another magical potion to fix my arm up again. It'd definitely leave a scar. "He was the only one ever to get that first raw score."

I shook my head fervently. "Why does he hate me so much?" I voiced. I didn't understand it. What could I, a half-year, have done to provoke him?

"I don't know," Enver admitted. "But he still could have helped you. I've never seen him outright hate anyone, though he doesn't exactly like anyone, either."

"What a great guy," I groaned. He was one of those boys who was undeniably 'hot,' but his personality put him off instantly. A big no-no. Besides, the way Berkley described him; he'd never really shown interest in anyone. He was set to become the school's master Griffinor when he graduated. After all, Delia couldn't stay on forever.

With any luck, I'd be gone before then.

"Let's get you to the Infirmary," Enver said. We opened the door to Farlost, finding instead Shea looking untranslatable as usual.

"Professor Gerog needs you," he said in way of explanation to Enver. Enver looked caught - help me or go to the Professor?

"I'll take her, Enver," Shea smothered my hopes of Enver's decision. "I'd like to explain to the nurses why Amee is feeling woozy. Did the wittle gwiffin scare her?"

I gritted my teeth and removed Enver's now blood-soaked shirt from my arm. Fighting to look at the wound, I stared back up at Shea.

"Oh," he noted. "Maybe a bit more serious." His voice was level. Scarily so.

Enver pushed the shirt back onto my arm and ascended up the massive stairs to Gerog's office. I shuddered, remembering how cold and clammy her hand's had felt on mine the day of the magical assessment. "I'll come see you later," Enver assured me.

Calmly, I nodded as Shea took a position beside me, shoving his hands deep into his pockets and leading me towards the infirmary. His arm smacked mine.

"Um. Ouch."

Shea took my arm in his hands, not unlike how Enver had. He examined the damage tenderly. "I didn't know it hadn't healed yet."

"You also didn't know about it until you hit it with your elbow," I seethed. If he thought taking me to the nurses would make up for all the crap he'd given me at Farlost, then he was crazy. Then again, I thought of Berkley, maybe all the Scotsworths were a little titled in the head.

"I'm sorry," his answer was barely above a whisper, so thin that I thought that I might have imagined it. The next words were barely spoken at all. "Forgive me."

Like hell I would.

* * *

**A/N: So...Enver's acting affectionate, Shea's acting oddly kind, and Leah's as irritating as ever. What ever to do? What do you think is the bee in Shea's bonnet? **


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Filler chapter! Woohoo! **

Elspeth glared enviously through her porthole-sized window overlooking the field. Outside, boarding her griffin with a beaming smile and Enver Holbrook's hands ringing her waist was Amee Fieldmouse. She looked ecstatic.

Elspeth was sitting beside Elspeth were Marcena and Berkley, the latter of whom was braiding Marcena's hair absently. "Stop staring; it's creepy."

Elspeth's lip curled. "It is not. I should be there."

"Your score was a two, Elles," reminded Berkley. Marcena nodded in agreement, buffing her hot pink nails. Effortlessly, she shot a sympathetic look at Elspeth but pursed her plump red lips and kept silent.

"It's not her fault, really," sighed Berkley wistfully. "I mean, if she wasn't so nice, I'd hate her."

Elspeth drew the frilly white curtains back over her window as Enver and Amee took off into the sky. "I don't hate her."

"Oh?" Marcena's dark brows rose questioningly. "Sure seemed like it in Potions."

"Professor Wesley hates me."

Berkley laughed aloud, tying Marcena's hair into a braid. Fingering the loose strands, she began separating some into another, smaller knot. "Professor Wesley doesn't hate anyone."

Brooding, Elspeth picked up her notebook and began to scrawl loose initials surrounded by a bubbled heart. _Elspeth + Enver. _She sighed. "He hates _me_. Enver doesn't know I exist."

"I feel sorry for you," said Berkley. "Shea escorted you to school, after all."

"I didn't know that someone could avoid talking while giving a tour."

Marcena chuckled, pausing to scrutinize her cuticles. "That's Shea for you. Me and Berkley have been friends since were swaddled; you get used to the silence."

Elspeth eyed her doubtfully. "Does Shea have a girlfriend?" Maybe, just maybe, she thought, Enver would get jealous if Shea went out with her…

"Um, try never. He's going to be single forever or something romantic like that." Berkley waved her hand dramatically, rolling her eyes. She returned to braiding Marcena's silky russet hair.

Slouching and then plopping back onto her bed, Elspeth grimaced. "There really is no hope for me, is there? Amee gets all the luck."

"Besides being called squib by everyone for a year and a half," Marcena added.

"Oh, right. How did she manage that?"

Berkley answered for Marcena, adjusting a pin on her forehead. "She won't tell me. Maybe…." Berkley dipper her head. "she went to the all Knowledge Library."

Marcena gasped delicately. "She wouldn't. It's forbidden."

Elspeth chimed in her part. "I tried to break into there once. I bet I'm not even famous," she intoned sadly.

Marcena patted Elspeth's rainbow beanie. "I'm sure that's not true. You've got better grades than Shea."

"But no griffin."

"No, but who does? It's extremely rare." Marcena smiled at her downtrodden friend, careful not to smudge the drying polish on her nails. When she was assured that they were dried, she took Elspeth's hand and began coating her stubby, chewed nails with a pretty neutral color.

"Your family had two Avianics students, Berkley," Elspeth whispered.

Berkley's face fell into a hardened mask. "We don't talk about that." She patted her finished work, an extremely complicated updo resting on Marcena's slender neck. "Besides, I never even knew her."

Finally, someone spoke after Berkley's admittance. No, of course she hadn't known the beautiful girl. Even her portraits had been scraped from the walls. "But Shea did."

"Well," Marcena interrupted, standing up suddenly. "I'm up for a butter beer. Anyone want to come with me?"

"Sure." Berkley shrugged, still uncomfortable with the close slide they had just come to with discussing the girl. She turned back to Elspeth, who was dejectedly staring at her newly polished nails. They were done perfectly, but little more than circular shapes in her stubby fingers.

"You guys go ahead," she said. "I'll just stay here."

So they left her. On the way out, they met with Gauril, who was still depressed from his griffin's death. He wiped his nose, sniffling.

"Can I come with you guys? I don't really have the heart to watch Amee and Leah's training session."

Berkley and Marcena nodded their consents. They strode, making polite chatter, all the way to the Banquet Hall where some students were studying in hushed groups, scribbling anxiously on papers and barely glancing up from steamy cups of espresso. The group found an empty place and sat down. Bringing back three full mugs of butterbeer, Gauril stared at the two girls in front of me.

"So, Berkley, still having trouble with classes?"

Berkley groaned through her lengthy sip. She swallowed. "Yeah, but unless I want the teacher to catch on to my cheating, we're going to have to sit across the—"

"I meant…maybe we should start a study group or something."

Nodding enthusiastically, Marcena took a tiny sip from her own cup. "That's an awesome idea. I want to bring up my grades before the school year starts again."

"I don't know." Berkley sounded apprehensive, her dark hair messy around her shoulders. Gauril momentarily found himself wondering why Berkley didn't have droves of admirers herself, what with her beautiful, exotic looks. Then she reminded him unconsciously. "I've got a thing with Xander that day."

Of course. The dark-skinned, curly-haired boy and she were inseparable.

"But wait," Marcena pointed out. "We didn't say a day yet."

Berkley's cheeks flamed a light rosy color. "Oh."

"No excuses, Scotsworth," teased Gauril, finishing off his butterbeer. "We'll do it every day on the times that Amee has practice."

"We're not including her in this?" asked Marcena. Gauril studied the table's rich wooden knots.

"I suppose we could include her in some."

"She needs help in Potions," admitted Elspeth smugly. That was the downfall – while her high score said otherwise, her schoolwork was something she had showed obvious lacking in.

Gauril wiped a butterbeer moustache from his face. Marcena had begun giggling at him about it. Berkley rolled her eyes. They really should get together sometime. Well, they did have before the Sweetheart Dance in February, which was almost a year away since half-years didn't attend social events.

"Come one, you guys," Berkley said, breaking Marcena's teasing ("Trying to be manly, huh? Ooooh.") and yanking her out the door. "Amee's probably back by now."

After their afternoon, and even with their troubles with Amee, all of them were grinning from ear to ear as they returned to their dorms.


	12. Chapter 12

Shea left me in the Infirmary. To my delight, no incessant teasing about my disgusting, oozing arm followed his quiet apology which I left unattended. Instead of re-wrapping it, the nurses puzzled me by sending me off to Professor Gerog's office on the fifth floor. It was marked by a rusted metal door with swirly, untranslatable script written on it. Before I cracked it open, I heard voices from inside – first, Professor Wesley's.

"The Library! If she had -"

Then Gerog's shaky soprano tones interjected. "The Girl Who—"

I coughed. Widening the sliver of light between me and the office, the door swung open. I shut it behind me and numbly began staring at Enver's hoodie which was now dripping redness onto the floor with hollow wooden pings.

Gerog's clouded blue eyes drooped. "Oh, no." Her purple-veined fingers encased my wound. It felt gushy, warm under the pressure from Enver's hoodie. Apprehensively, I noticed that she was thin – almost skeletal – and draped in a shimmery baby blue fabric. I assumed that she'd always been this way. It fit her…this brittle paleness.

She began to hum odd words in a breathy, low tone. My eyes widened questioningly at Professor Wesley.

"Don't worry," he soothed, right before things got odd. What I mean by 'odd' is even more odd than my life already: a magical girl send to a magical school, told to learn about spells and heroes and griffins.

Instantly, massive flushes of pain began to swamp Gerog's hand on my arm. Burning and scorching its way up, snaking tendrils of black began to slither up my limb like they were flooding the veins.

"Stop!" I yelled, twisting. "It hurts!" White spiraled shapes curled into my vision, making the threadbare walls of Gerog's office spin and waltz. I tried to blink the shapes away as my eyes began to water with pained tears.

Hotly, Gerog's steely grasp finally broke after more minutes. Whereas I thought I couldn't stand anymore pain, that I was about to pass out before I could wrench my hand from Gerog's vice-like grip….the pain vanished as soon as her touch did.

I snatched Enver's hoodie off. Gasping, I uttered, "What did you do to me?!" For where my bloody, stringy Z-shaped cut had been was a dark violet scar of the same shape, puckered up and purple. My mouth gaped in horror. The nurses in the Infirmary had assured me with worried eyes that my arm could only be healed by Gerog – but what if that meant I was now infested with dark magic or something? I'd be excluded from everything. Yuki wouldn't probably go within forty feet of me.

"I'm afraid it's all I can do," Professor Geros said tiredly, folding her hands an collapsing into a nearby, stiff-looking chair. She closed her eyes, revealing deep-set wrinkles. "What's there now is permanent."

Silence tumbled into the room like a velvety theater curtain.

I parted it like foreign seas. "I expected a scar, you know."

Professor Wesley gave a miniscule smile. "So you knew."

"Knew what?" That you guys were going to possibly haunt my arm? Why, no, I didn't know that.

Gerog attempted an optimistic look. "Wesley, she doesn't know."

Were they going to suspend me? Enver? Better….Shea? What had they done? What had I done? And what in bloody hell did that have to do with my arm?!

"_What?_" I demanded. "Don't know _what_?"

Errantly, a memory from Ollivander's took flight in my sparratic though process. Back at the wand shop, Rory had seemed apprehensive about me getting my particular wand, the wand which now was stuffed into the right pocket of my jeans. Ollivander had immediately silenced my older brother, telling him that I 'wasn't like Jen.' But who was Jen?

"Who's Jen?" I asked Professor Wesley. In response to my question, his youthful face paled.

Gerog nodded a quick gesture of assent to him. Yes! Answers!

"Jen was a student here about fifteen years ago. She was beautiful – the toast of all the social events," Wesley paused, as if considering this fact. I remembered that he had been a student here at that time. Maybe he'd known her.

"Anyway," Wesley continued, abruptly continuing. "She was a brilliant Avianics student. Raw score of ten, in fact. Her griffin, Rafe, was the same breed as Barley—"

"Enver's griffin? The same breed as Barley, as in Enver's griffin?" I interrupted.

"Yes. Now, when Jen received a letter one day by her own….something about her went amiss. She kept telling everyone not to read the letter, hiding it and paying abhorrent amounts of times alone, flying long distances on Rafe." Wesley's blue eyes practically shouted pain. He had known her. "Then, one day, she vanished…Of course, Farlost sent search parties, but only Rafe had the capability to fly as far as we suspected her of going. Days became weeks without her."

I wondered again, impatiently, what this had to do with my arm. Yuki wasn't even the same kind of griffin as Rafe had been.

"But I found her, Amee," Professor Wesley croaked raspily, A terrifying mental picture bubbled into my mind as he continued. "Every bone in her body was shattered. Her legs were in grotesque shapes, splintered and….there was so much blood everywhere…" his voice broke.

"The point is," Gerog finished. "No one knows what the letter said or what happened to her. But that wand," Gerog pointed accusingly at my left hand, my uninjured one. "was hers."

Wesley managed a simple nod, a meaningful glance. "I took it from her that night."

"So she was dead, then?" I asked stupidly.

"Yes, Miss Fieldmouse, she was. And your simply odd attraction to danger has everyone worried that you'll meet the same end!" Gerog snapped icily.

It dawned on me the full weight of what they were suggesting. "You think it's only a matter of time before someone finds me like….like that."

"Though Jennifer was a hero," said Wesley bitterly, "I'm sure it was an accident. I was trying to convince our Seer here that her death –" Wesley said the word in a hissing voice. "was nothing more than an unfortunate accident."

Gerog hurried to the door suddenly. "I'll call Mr. Holbrook to take you to your dorm."

"Why not Shea? He brought me to the Infirmary," I reminded them politely. Then a shudder whipped through me as the hate foamed over. "Oh, right," I spat. "Shea would rather die himself than be near me."

No one said anything after that, Gerog and Wesley exchanging anxious glances between themselves. They knew something. They knew why Shea hated me.

A few moments later, Gerog shouted for Enver and he came jogging into the office. He slipped through the doorway, gorgeous honey eyes bugging when he noticed my new mark and the still-bloody hoodie of his on the floor.

"It's best you take her quickly, Mr. Holbrook," snipped Professor Gerog. "Oh, and Amee?"

I turned to her.

"Mr. Holbrook will take over your Avianics lessons from now on."

* * *

**A/N: and so the plot thickens. What do you think Shea's hate has to do with this Jennifer character? And how about Professor Wesley? **

**And even Enver? **


	13. Chapter 13

_Farlost Academy for the Magically Inclined Welcomes Third Holbrook and Scotsworth Generation_

_By Erika Strainer_

Founded long ago (the specific date is unknown) by Stella Farstone and Erik Morelost, this magical school offers a highly secretive curriculum and highly selective student arrangement. The mysterious 'Avianics' study is forbidden to be discussed outside the lovely grounds of this school. Offering year-round dedication and many transfers from Hogwarts due to its unusual acceptance age.; this year, the school welcomed the third generations of the most famous Farlost families: Enver Holbrook and Shea Scotsworth. The unstoppable duo has known each other for years. Both boys' parents attended Farlost, as did _their_ parents. Enver Holbrook's parents are perhaps best remembered for their active participation in the final war against He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. Though the details on the couple's role are unknown, reliable sources have confirmed that the mission was both imperative and essential. I caught up with Enver, an only child of twelve and a half, on his summer break in London. The boy was exceedingly handsome and casually munching on Every Flavor Beans in his inn room. When asked about his upcoming semester, Enver was outspoken about his excitement.

"I'm really looking forward to it," he admitted.

Shea Scotsworth, a boy of the same age but much taller, rested near his friend. When asked the same question, Mr. Scotsworth sustained 'no comment.' However, I have no doubt that this story will be one to follow when Scotsworth's younger sister, Berkley, attends the school in a few years. Until then, we'll follow Enver Holbrook carefully.

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_Dear Shea,_

_How is school? Is Jen okay? She's not writing back and everyone is so worried. I miss you – Marcena even says that the silence is different without you. Which doesn't make any sense, but okay. I really hope I get accepted to Farlost when I'm your age. Mom says I might get to go to Hogwarts, but I really don't want to. I hear Farlost is the best school from Marcena – and she knows everything, you know?_

_P.S. Happy 13__th__ Birthday!_

_Yours, Berkley_

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_Magical Hogwarts Family Admits Youngest Daughter to Farlost_

_By Polly Octavianna_

The Fieldmouse family, well known in the magical world, has admitted their youngest daughter, Amee Rosemarie Fieldmouse, to Farlost Academy. This development is interesting due to her siblings' active attending at Hogwarts. What was so special, we ask ourselves, about young Amee that she had gained a place at this prestigious school? Formerly thought to be a squib, Amee has watched all of her siblings (triplets Rhonda, Rachel, and Rory), along with little brother Alexander attend Hogwarts. Another development: Amee has been given the infamous wand of Jennifer of Farlost fame. Surely we don't need to remind ourselves of her last name; her death was quick, sudden, and blamed on close friend Wesley Rows. Mr. Rows found Jennifer's body, we can recall, on that fateful night. But what does this mean for Amee? Will she be the same, found by the same person? Or will Amee make her own way? More developments to come. If you know Amee or obtain any information on her, please contact The Quibbler at the information found on page A2.


	14. Chapter 14

This was it. This was the day. The day of reckoning. Well, not really- but still. The day.

It had arrived. Quickly, and before I could realize it, Yuki and I had come to an understanding. Basically, she didn't pitch a fit when I attempted to wrangle her into the shed after our lessons with Enver, and I brought her something of which she'd become rather fond. She liked raw squirrel. I was told by Enver that each griffin had its own favorite food. While Barley's was cooked fox and Shade's rotten, uncooked eggs (gross), Yuki's was squirrel.

So that was it. We went squirrel hunting, and she went willingly to her chain that night. Though a timid, temporary agreement, the quick-tempered flash in her blue streaked eye laughed at me. We were becoming fast friends. I never would get used to the smell of festering sulphur when Shea brought Shade his favorite meal. I came to the conclusion that he did this only when I was there. I skirted around Shade and his owner every change I got. I didn't want to tempt his hatred.

I rubbed my hands together in the cold. It was freezing again, the promise of snow on the horizon, hidden in the fleecy gray pockets of dense cloud. December fifteenth. Only ten days until Christmas, and Farlost was showing it. Shiny thickets of tinsel bunched on the stairs leading to the different floors, and tall, stately Christmas trees lurked in nearly every corner. But spirits were high. I'd decided to take Enver up on his offer – Apparating to Diagon with him to go shopping. It seemed harmless enough, and I liked his company.

"Ready, girl?" I asked Yuki. Enver watched closely from behind me on Barley, an air of protectiveness settled in his eyes. Spritely, I slung my leg over Yuki's back and grabbed her reins. Her feathers bristled; I knew she didn't really feel like flying that day. Wrapped in layers of Enver's hoodie under my thick jacket, I breathed out a puff of air. On the ground below me, Leah and I's friends were watching. This was the moment where Avianics students proved their worth- in the annual race. Closely bumping into Cyan was Shade, and Shea atop him.

I didn't know if I was ready. Yuki nuzzled Barley's beak affectionately. Coldly, I turned her head. I needed to focus. Griffin romance would have to wait.

"You'll do fine," Enver assured me. I nodded, though my doubts were high given the peppy determination which Leah had seemed to take on Cyan. The smaller, pouty griffin paced nervously, his paws heavy on the ground. Yuki's long, brown tail flicked back and forth.

"One!" shouted Delia from the ground. I made panicked eyes at Berkley, but she was watching her brother carefully. Elspeth looked enamored with Enver. Marcena winked at me and gave me a thumbs up before turning to watch Xander peck Berkley on the cheek to steal her attention.

"Two!" Was it possible I could lose before I'd even started?

"Three!"

Yuki's wings instantly rocketed her into the sky. Enver trailed me. Leah had flattened her back on Cyan, her blond waves streaming behind her back.

"Ack!" My divided attention led me to barely avoid a tree. Rebounding, Yuki pushed her back legs from the massive oak, shooting us a miniscule inch in front of Leah. I patted her happily, thanking her with a breathless, "Good girl."

There it was! Barley and Shade had swung around to an air space in front of me, between them was stuck a checkered finish line. Almost there. I could hear Cyan's pants from behind me; Leah hadn't trained him well enough to have such speed for a long period of time. This was it.

"Spinolovosa."

What? What had Leah just said? As I turned to question her ( a faulty plan considering we were both speeding towards the end of the race), Yuki spun backwards and began losing altitude. We dropped to tree level along with my stomach. I heard Enver call, "Amee!" before I gripped Yuki's sides and we vanished from the sky and onto the forest floor with a thump.

As soon as I disboarded Yuki, she shook her head dizzily and paced in a circle before cocking her head at me. Above us, I heard cheers. Leah had won. But was that word she spoke at me a spell? Those were forbidden outside of class, and I didn't want to be on the Professor Gerog-Professor Wesley side of disciplinary measures. Disappointment shackled down on me. I patted Yuki's beak once.

"Nice try," I said, but I didn't really mean it. Well, I did – Yuki was amazing and could have won – but the shiny silver feather trinket to the winner was now probably firmly affixed in Leah's slender fingers.

Convinced Yuki wasn't planning to escape, I crawled back onto her back and steered her upwards. I met Enver almost immediately. Edging Barley close to Yuki, he cast me a questioning look.

I shrugged, attempting to look and sound indifferent. I sounded heartbroken, which I wasn't, I told myself. "I don't know."

A gust of icy, thin mist stung my face. Enver pointed towards the ground where my friends looked like dark pins on brown cloth. I urged Yuki to land, and fast. As much as I loved her, I didn't want to be near her right now. Leah's friends were ringing her, giggling and touching their fingertips to the feather. Cyan proudly stuck his stubby head into the air.

Yuki didn't even have the heart to resist me as I led her to her chain. Throwing her the limp body of a squirrel from the feed stores, I appraised her. We'd really become close over the last few months. She was already curled up and covered by her wings, the rise and fall of her white-coated, freckled chest indicating that she was awake, but ignoring the world, too. I didn't bother to chain her up.

When I returned, Enver handed me a styrafoam cup of something scalding hot.

"Cherry cupcake latte, extra whipped cream," he told me. Something itching and warm fizzed up my chest.

"Thank you," I said. I bit my lip before continuing. "Want to go hang out in the Common Room?" The Common Room was furnished with plush, squishy couches and tiny antique tea tables. It would be bustling with activity.

When we got there, I stripped of my jacket and shoes and pulled Enver's hoodie over my knees, drawing them up to my chin. I took a sip of my latte. It was warm and comforting.

"So, what happened back there?" Enver asked me. "You didn't even say anything to your friends."

"I don't know," I admitted again, staring miserably at my socked feet. Another sip loosened me up a bit. Rocking me into calm, it was creamy and sweet with a hint of nutty espresso. Perfect.

Enver looked uncomfortable, inching closer to me until our legs and shoulders were pressed against each other. "Did Leah do anything?" he whispered, trying to skirt the gaze of a few people trickling into the Common Room. It didn't work; Enver was often seen with girls and was the topic of gossip. They'd be overjoyed to hear that I was far from Enver's sweetheart.

"No." I wasn't really sure, though. What if she had? It was possible.

"We still going to Diagon later today?" It was only ten, and I had a whole pouch full of 'spending money' from Rory.

"You know it." Enver reached forward and stroked my cheek gently with his fingers. The touch felt like tiny electrical impulses. "By the way, you look adorable."

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**A/N: Wait a minute, is that a crush on Enver I see?! Will Amee get her heart broken by the charismatic prankster, do you think?**

**What's up with Leah?**

**And still...what's going on with Jen and Shea?!**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Could really use some ideas, guys! Also - this chapter has no Amee POV.**

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The room hadn't been touched for years. It was secluded, nestled high in the Farlost castle. Abandoned, that is – but never forgotten. The door squealed open in protest, swinging on its hinges. They were spotted with rust. It was the attic – two angled walls met at a point laterally down the center of the ceiling. Dust was clear from everything, though; Professor Wesley had made sure of that. A simple charm.

The dresser wasn't bare. Resting beside a pretty, canopy bed, its chestnut-colored wood was simply covered in picture frames. In every one was the same girl – as an infant, grinning a simple smile from a frilly pink dress. Her large, bouncy black ringlets curled into her face. Set like pale sapphires in her ivory skin, her eyes were stark blue and shining.

Another picture – her at seven. She was blowing bubbles and grinning. Always smiling, that one. Such a healthy child. Another picture; her Farlost yearbook picture, in her uniform. A few more of those were on the dresser, showing the beauty who she became. Always so happy.

Then - a family picture when she was seventeen, holding her plump baby brother. He wasn't smiling, but she was, cradling his form in her arms.

There were no more pictures after that. In a slender, glass vase drooped a single blue-tinted rose. Baby blue. She hated that color, but it was her favorite. It would only make sense if you knew her. After all, she never even met her littlest sister. Wesley thought she would have loved her, in her rambunctious ferocity. So like her big sister.

So like her brother, too. Brokenhearted at the loss, he'd never been the same. Never close to anyone. Why not? It's not like they'd meet the same horrible fate.

It's not the same, Nana. I can't do that.

He heard footsteps. He paused, to find his best friend staring back at him. In his hand was a present, curtly wrapped without a bow.

"Here," he offered, "Merry Christmas."

Her brother took it, halfway caring about the wrapper. He wasn't surprised what laid inside. It was from Gringotts, his sister's favorite possession. A silver necklace, an emerald stone on it. Stifling the emotions which had been long clogged, he wrapped his friend in a tight hug. "Thank you."

He couldn't say anything more…the tears made sure of that for him.


	16. Chapter 16

The blueness was stark, pale and blue against the black shape forming in front of me. Yellow, waving grain stuck up and trembled through the spots of snow. It was from a rougue dragon that the dense sheets of snow were broken. Enver was grinning.

"What's up, griffin bait?" he teased, kindly. Despite best efforts, my lips pulled upwards in a slight smile. His arm ringed me, offering warmth through the dreamy warp. I was dreaming, I knew that much. Enver wouldn't be so affectionate – he was my best friend. Though Marcena's bubbliness was commendable, Berkley's loyalty commendable, and Elspeth's jealousy amusing…we had grown farther away. Yet, Enver still lusted over Leah. I'd never understand that.

Then, he vanished, replaced by an equally dense arm. But it was hotter, like the smooth surface of skin on a desert day. It reminded me of summer, something that's not bad at all. They weren't Enver, dream me reasoned. I wanted them to be, but they weren't.

Another arm wrapped around me from behind. They were leaning over me, chin resting on the top of my head. There were only a few people who were tall enough to my 5' 9" to do that. But the silky, icy heat of the voice that spoke to me confirmed my suspicions.

"Amee," it whispered softly. Confusion swept over me like a rushing wind. This didn't make any sense. Why the heck was he here, invading my dreams?

"Get out!" That was it- lucid dreaming, right? I could control my dream actions. This was weird. Too weird, even for me.

Shea seemed nonchalant. I was fifteen. So that made him – what? Seventeen? "Nah, Princess."

Princess? The heck was going on? "Why are you in my dream, idiot?"

Shea shrugged; I felt the motion against my back. His warmth irritated me. How could someone so pale and cold to me in real life be so comforting, inviting? I begged myself to stop these thoughts, to reappear Enver into my dreams. They did not comply.

"I don't know, but you're pretty messed up to kick yourself into mine," Shea said. I froze.

"Wait a minute….what?"

Shea was still calm. Gr. "We're both sleeping, right?"

I nodded, noticing with aggravation that Shea didn't smell like poison like I previously thought. He smelled like coffee and cinnamon rolls. Or maybe I was just hungry. "Right."

"So someone's doing this."

I wrestled myself from Shea's arms, shocked by the dream-goosebumps that raised themselves on my arm. "Why were your arms around me?"

"I don't know." Amusement drawled into his tone. My lips set in a hard line, and I crossed my arms.

"You hate me."

"No," Shea began gently. "I don't."

"Enver was in my dream before this," I spat. It had the intended reaction: nothing, except a slight wrinkling between Shea's dark brows.

"He was?"

"Yeah. We went shopping for Christmas stuff at Diagon yesterday."

Shea's ethereal blue eyes swirled with shock. "You did _what_?"

"Don't worry," I waved him off. "I didn't see anything." Nothing except a mysterious package from Gringotts. Enver was riddled with secrets, indeed. I hadn't understood it.

"Oh." Shea stuffed his hands into the pair of jeans he was wearing. They were very Shea-like, jet black like his hair and wrinkled. But never loose. They fit his legs pretty closely. Woah. Such odd thoughts from me today.

"So shouldn't we be talking about something important for whoever's doing this to wreck my perfectly good dream?" I countered.

Shea's lip curled with laughter stifled. "Enver was in your perfectly good dream?"

Whoops. My cheeks flamed. "Yes."

"He asked Leah out, you know." Shea's reminder fell on deaf ears. I knew. It still hurt, though.

"I know." I didn't say anything more. It hurt too much. Like tiny daggers, pinning my chest open for dissection, raw and smarting and bloody. A little dramatic. But accurate.

Then Shea's form began to fuzz up, like interference was happening. Black and white spots began to dance jigs across my vision.

"What's going on?" I protested. This dream wasn't over until I said it was ever, no matter how confusing.

"I'm waking up!" shouted Shea, waving. "See me tomorrow!"

Wait. Tomorrow was Christmas. As my eyes blinked open, irritated by the sudden gush of sunlight, I realized that I was freezing cold. Purple shapes focused.

I was in the garden, laying on a bed of snow. Someone had moved me. No doubt, they used a spell. I quickly hopped to my feet, self-conscious of my loose pants and form-fitting tank top I wore to sleep in. My hair was poofy and snarled from sleep. Laying on the snow was one item, hollowing the snow slightly. Picking it up, I noticed that it was icy to the touch. It was a necklace, beautiful and simple with a shining green emerald, strung on a silver chain and framed by an impossibly thin setting of black diamonds.

I peered around the area for the owner, but then realized that I was completely alone on the snow and in the garden. It was Christmas morning.

And I just dreamed about Shea Scotsworth.

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**A/N: So who set up our nemesis in a dream world? What was up with Shea? Why does Amee now have the necklace that Jen's brother received from Christmas? And why is Leah getting Enver instead of Amee? Give me your answers in your review!**

**Sorry for the short length. Will be getting it up in the next chapter. Maybe even some Leah POV? No?**


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